


Scared of You

by Thysanotus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-25
Updated: 2005-11-25
Packaged: 2018-10-27 07:32:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10804680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thysanotus/pseuds/Thysanotus
Summary: Sometimes Ron scares Remus...





	Scared of You

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: This one is for [](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=stick_around)[**stick_around**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/stick_around/), who requested Remus/Ron, with Sirius, "scared of you" and a dictionary. She told me she would love me forever if I could incorporate rain and a birthday. Sorry Lise, I couldn't quite get Dom into the story, but he is in my icon.  


* * *

Rain slides down the glass, mist hiding the Forbidden Forest from view. Ron breathes onto the window, tracing absent lines into the condensation, lines that transfigure themselves into letters until the words “Happy Birthday, Ron” dance through his vision.  
  
He sighs quietly. He knows Remus is standing in the doorway, leaning against the jamb, amber eyes hopeful, hands in his pockets, motionless, wordless.  
  
Ron can’t turn around, can’t look at the grey day reflected in Remus’ eyes. It’s not his birthday today. It’s not Harry’s birthday, or Hermione’s. He doesn’t know, doesn’t even think that today is – _was_ – Sirius’ birthday.  
  
\--  
  
Rain trickles through Ron’s hair, leaving it clumped in unlikely spikes. He laughs aloud in joy, unexpectedly cold droplets slithering down his neck, dripping off the end of his nose. He whirls, throwing his arms out and turning his face to the sky. Unconsciously, his mouth falls open and he tastes freedom on his tongue.  
  
Remus twitches the curtain back across the window, ignoring the tugging at his heart. Ron no longer needs protection, despite the glistening drops caught in his eyelashes, the vulnerability in his hair plastered to his scalp.  
  
Outside, Ron spins giddily as the rain falls inexorably.  
  
\--  
  
Rain patters on the roof of the old cottage as Remus flicks through the fragile onionskin pages of the dictionary. The room is cold, darkened now by the glowering clouds outside the window.  
  
The flash of red as Ron slouches against the door proves a welcoming spark of colour. Remus wonders idly if it were possible to read by the light of that hair. Ron says nothing, content to watch as Remus licks a finger and carefully turns the page.  
  
The sensation of waiting deepens, shadows turning in the room, the air thickening.  
  
“Yes,” Ron says into the still air.  
  
\--  
  
Rain drips from the guttering, the sound of it hitting the ground below soothing as Ron tries to drift off to sleep. Remus brushes the hair back from his eyes carefully with one finger, and Ron has to suppress the urge to punch him.  
  
“Would you just leave it?” he snaps, fogged somewhat by sleep.  
  
Hurt, Remus rolls to the other side of the bed, wrapping all the blankets around him in a fit of childish pique.  
  
“Sometimes, Ron, I’m scared of you,” he says, his voice drifting back over his shoulder to burrow into Ron’s ear, an awful creature.  
  
\--  
  
Rain falls in the wedding photographs, the small figures dashing for shelter. Harry holds a newspaper over his head, the figures in the newspaper photographs waving, photographs within photographs. Hermione has charmed a water-resistant bubble around her head, resplendent in white, and they laugh at the smug expression on her face.  
  
The black and white photographs are their favourite, and they pore over them for hours. An endless procession of faces. Dean. Neville. The Weasleys.  
  
Later, Harry asks Hermione where Ron and Remus are. She sorts through the photographs again, pointing to two whirling figures in the rain.  
  
They’re dancing.


End file.
